Lovely Anomaly
by swim freak 9000
Summary: "Everyone knows the sweetest apples are found on the highest branches." A take on why Carlisle found Esme so extraordinary all those years ago, when she wandered in with a broken leg.


**A/N: Originally part of a longer piece, this little gem has been floating around my desktop going on a year now. It was time it saw the light of day. Written because I always sort of wondered what Carlisle would find so stunning about Esme when she came in with a broken leg all those years ago. **

"Dr. Cullen?"

I looked up at the sound of my name and smiled at the nurse. She ran her tongue over her lips and blushed, even going so far as to giggle slightly. _Not another one_. If anything, she was worse than the others – the young nurse had gone weak at the knees, and I could hear her elevated pulse from across the room. She twisted a handkerchief in her hands and nodded nervously. From what I'd heard, her name was Millie. She was the hospital's newest addition, another fresh-out-of-nursing-school girl with a shy smile and an empty ring finger. Her words tripped over her tongue.

"Your next patient won't come in," she explained breathlessly.

I frowned. That hadn't been what I expected. "And why is that?"

Millie shrugged her skinny shoulders, looking like a little bird trying to flap its wings. "Don't know."

"Well then, send in whoever was after her." I wasn't known for giving my time of day to people who didn't want it – not when I could be doing something better, helping people, working towards my own redemption.

"But Carlisle-"

"Dr. Cullen," I insisted firmly, though I tried to disguise the edge in my voice. I'd long ago realized it was best to have as professional relationship as possible with my coworkers (particularly those that were female).

Millie nodded quickly, still blushing. "Yes, sorry, Dr. Cullen. Look, she broke her leg really badly, and she's coated in blood – we can see down to the bone. And she's a young little thing, only maybe sixteen. We really can't ignore this one. What's more, her mother's throwing a fit; will you please come get her? She won't budge."

This was odd. Then again, it wasn't terribly out of the ordinary: the patient sounded like she was under quite a bit of stress. Having a panic attack, maybe in shock. "Yes, of course." I stood and followed Millie down the narrow hallway, contemplating my most recent human conundrum. I had had reluctant patients before, particularly children, but he'd never had one refuse medical attention outright. Then again, what world was complete without its psychopaths and nut jobs? Some people were just…a bit different.

Like me.

Arriving in the waiting room, it was easy for me to spot the girl – partially because she was bleeding so profusely, the sweet aroma of her blood knocking the wind out of me, and partially because of the yelling. She had her back to me, and I couldn't see her face, only long caramel hair and a white hand gripping the arm of the chair. Her leg was wrapped in a white cloth and resting on the chair in front of her, the red just starting to bleed through the sheer fabric.

Her mother seemed furious. "Esme Anne Platt, you listen to me, young lady-"

"You listen to _me_ for once, mama, I'm not going until-"

"You are going this instant and that is final! I can't believe you, what on earth-"

"I'm not going anywhere! I'm fine, I'm fine, but he's hurt, and-"

And from there the conversation dissolved into chaos. "You're ridiculous-" "Now I hate you, you know that? I _hate-_" "Cheeky, stupid little-" "Well then why don't you just get rid of me? We'd both be happier, daddy would-" "Don't talk about this like you understand-" "I _do_ understand, mama, I'm not a child!"

"Excuse me?" I intervened.

"_What?"_ they demanded at the same time. It was almost comical, they way the two women turned to face me in unison, as though they had planned it. I watched their expressions fade from anger to astonishment to embarrassment in moments, again in tandem. I offered each a polite smile.

"I'm Dr. Cullen," I said, and against my better judgment, I held my hand out to the girl. She took it gently, surprised at my icy touch. And while I masked my surprise better, I was equally astounded by how incredibly warm her skin was. Not fever warm, not sickly warm – simply warm in a way that meant she was undeniably _alive_. I half imagined to myself that sparks flashed where we touched – her skin was so soft, so hot, so…human, I reminded myself. I pulled my hand away. I couldn't help but noticed that her face, even when flushed from yelling and from the pain, was incredibly delicate and lovely.

"Esme Platt," she replied, staring at me. There was sweetness in her voice the shouting never would have hinted at. Perhaps it was an act – it usually was – but…something about her seemed delightfully genuine.

"Charmed."

"Sarah Platt." The mother introduced herself hastily. She all but lunged for my hand, and I was grateful the white gloves she wore masked my cold touch.

"It is a pleasure," I replied. I looked from mother to daughter. "May I ask why we are not doing this in my office?"

The question was directed at Esme, but Sarah had no trouble answering it. "My…well, frankly, my _stupid_ daughter decided it would be fun to climb the trees in her father's orchard. She fell, of course, broke her leg," – here Sarah patted the leg gently and Esme winced – "and now refuses to go in to have you treat it. Surely _you _can talk some sense into her."

I nodded and sat in the empty chair besides Esme. It shouldn't have been _exhilarating_ to have her that close, but I won't lie: it was. My arm barely brushed against hers, the sparks flew again. From here I could hear each heartbeat, feel the tiny exchange of air as she inhaled and exhaled. In the back of my throat the old ache returned: the thirst I hadn't felt in years. It took me by surprise and I stopped breathing through my nose, wishing I could stop entirely without them noticing. My eyes lingered perhaps a second too long on the fragile skin of her throat. I blinked and pulled away slightly, my movement so small and smooth she wouldn't have noticed. "Esme," I said evenly, "would you not like to walk again?"

"It's not _that_," she replied, speaking quickly. I had the feeling she thought if she didn't talk fast enough, she'd never be allowed to finish. "In fact, it…well, it hurts like hell–" (_"Esme" _her mother gasped) "–and I would certainly appreciate it if you'd fix it. "But…" Esme looked across the room. "I insist you treat him first." She pointed.

I ripped my gaze away from the delicate curve of her jaw, the rose in her cheeks, the warm flesh of her neck…and reluctantly (if relieved) looked to where she was pointing. Or rather, to _whom_ she was pointing.

A black man in his early thirties, clearly poor but clearly worked to the bone, was holding a sickly child on his lap. The man's eyes shifted from one side of the room to the next, too scared to focus on any one thing. The little boy was quiet but trembling, clutching his arm close to his chest at an odd angle. The limb was clearly broken, but even from here I could tell the break was clean, and would be easy to set. Esme's bloodied leg took priority. "They've been waiting here since this morning; he told me," Esme continued.

"I'm sorry," I said, "we treat according to injury, not order of arrival. I'll be sure to see them soon."

"Good," she said defiantly. "See them now."

I had never had a young lady speak to me that way. By mere virtue of being a doctor, a person of authority, most of them tended to nod shyly and stare when they thought I wasn't looking. Being what I was only added to that – they were too intimidated to speak, nervous as a result of either my appearance or that sixth sense warning them to stay away. But Esme looked at me steadily, her rich brown eyes boring into mine. It was disconcerting: not ever had a human looked at me like that. "Miss Esme," I said almost shakily, lowering my voice. "You've lost a lot of blood." No one knew it better than I did. Not only could I see the red seeping through the cloth, but I could smell it in the air, almost taste it on my tongue. "You are at high risk for infection. I don't even know how bad the break is yet. It is imperative I examine your leg as soon as possible. And you told me yourself that it hurts, did you not?"

The question was a low blow, but effective: Esme's gaze wavered. I could see the pain hidden just under her brave face. And yet, she shook her head, taking a deep breath. "Dr. Cullen, with all due respect, the only reason your nurses haven't yet so much as glanced at that little boy and his father is the color of their skin."

The accusation surprised me. I glanced back at the two again. The thought should have crossed my mind earlier.

"Esme!" Sarah cried. "What a thing to say! I can't-"

"Mrs. Platt," I interrupted. "Please, it is quite alright." I instructed each nurse her first day here that they were never to turn anyone away from my part of the hospital. I of all people knew I had no right to discriminate. I wasn't even human. I had been so sure that I had made my practice a place for people of all religions, races, social standings. But prejudices run deep.

"I am more than content to sit here all day and bleed in your waiting room." Esme's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "But perhaps you could do us all a favor and treat him quickly, before me?"

I paused.

"He's just a _child_," she whispered under her breath, and perhaps that is what convinced me.

_You're just a child,_ I wanted to argue. But I held my tongue.

Because I heard true concern in her voice. The absolute love she had for a stranger was amazing. I marveled at her for a brief moment. And then I nodded. "Yes, Miss Esme. Will you at least allow my nurse to take you to a room? It will be at least be more comfortable, and cleaner."

She raised her eyebrows. "You promise to treat him immediately?"

"Sooner than that, even."

She leaned in closer. "Can you make my mother wait out here?"

"What was that?" asked Mrs. Platt.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lip. "Yes."

She sat up. "Then yes, please, thank you, Dr. Cullen."

I stood and turned to the small group of twittering nurses who had been watching for the past few minutes. "Millie, would you mind getting Miss Esme a wheelchair and taking her to an available room? Thank you. Mrs. Platt, I must ask you to remain here in the waiting room."

The woman was startled. "Dr. Cullen, I am her _mother_. Surely I am-"

"I'm sorry. Rules are rules. I will have her back out to you as quickly as possible though, yes?" I smiled. Sarah Platt went weak at the knees and nodded. I leaned down to help Esme into the wheelchair, and Millie turned to roll her down the hall.

At last, I strode across the room. "My name is Carlisle," I said as kindly as I could to the man. "Dr. Carlisle Cullen." I held out my hand. He looked at it warily, then tentatively shook it. "Will you please come with me?"

The little boy was cooperative, and thankfully, the bone was easy to set. "That should do it, Abraham," I was saying only a few minutes later. "Be more careful where you swing." The child nodded and smiled shyly.

"How much?" asked the father gravely.

I shook my head. "I feel bad enough you had to wait so long."

Mr. Smith paused. "I'm sorry?"

"Nothing," I reiterated. "Not a penny – it's taken care of. Just bring him back in a month or so and we'll get that cast off."

Mr. Smith bent his head and held it between his hands. "Dr. Cullen," he said, his gruff voice shaking. "I don't know what to say. I…thank you so much, sir."

"Thank the girl from the waiting room," I replied. "Her name is Esme."

"I know. I work for her father."

"Oh? Well…she's really quite something." I bit back the praises I wanted to shower on her.

The father nodded. "A little guardian angel, that one." He looked up at me and smiled. "Thank you, doctor."

"Anytime." I saw them out the door and then turned to walk to the room across the hall, shaking my head. As a doctor, I saw little miracles every day – a man saved by his dog, a new baby brought into the world, a risky surgery that went well. But these tiny acts of beautiful, unexpected mercy never lost their sense of wonder for me. Each was as astounding as the last.

When I returned to Esme, her façade had dissolved entirely, and now the pain showed through her mask all too easily. She was sitting in the wheelchair still, leg propped up, gripping the armrests so tight her knuckles turned bloodless and white. Her face was scrunched up in the same expression I saw on nearly every patient. But within seconds of my arrival, she composed herself once again, even forcing a smile. "Is Abe going to be alright?" she asked.

I smiled. "Yes; he'll be running around again before you know it."

"Good." She looked like she had more to say, but closed her mouth nonetheless.

"Now, let's look at this leg, shall we?" I asked her, moving my own chair closer to sit across from her. "Your mother says you fell out of a tree?" She nodded. I slowly rolled up her skirt and unwrapped the bloody cloth that had been haphazardly wrapped around the limb. Esme looked up at the ceiling, determined not to see her own mangled limb.

It was not quite as bad as Millie had made it sound. True, there was quite a bit of blood, but luckily, the bone had not shattered, as I had worried it had. The break was clean, a couple inches below her knee. The blood was the result of a long gash running down the side of her leg, deep, but manageable. I carefully took her leg in both hands, pressing my thumbs to the sides of her knee to make sure she hadn't damaged that in any way. From a quickly stolen glance I saw Esme was blushing. Typical of my patients. But, I thought, perhaps not typical of her.

"I'm sorry," Esme suddenly burst.

I looked up at her. "For what?"

"For making a scene in your waiting room," she said in a small voice, refusing to meet my eyes. I wondered briefly if Millie, or her mother, had told her off for that.

"Esme Platt," I said evenly. "Listen to me, because what I am going to say is important." She paused a moment, then finally looked at me, her dark eyes piercing as ever. "You never need to apologize for doing what is right."

Esme's eyebrows knit together on her forehead; she said nothing. No frown, no nod – only that same intense stare.

I redirected my attention back to her leg. "I'm going to need to stitch up this cut, and then set the bone," I explained. "Now, I can give you morphine if you'd like it, but it will leave you drowsy and not be terribly helpful in the long run."

"I don't need it," she said in a shaky voice.

The next forty minutes or so were quiet except for the sound of Esme's breathing and the clinical clink of medical tools. She didn't want to talk. I carefully stitched up the long cut, and then even more carefully, set the bone. She winced as I applied pressure to an already painful limb, and instinctively, I took one of her hands in my own. She held on tightly as I pressed with only one hand and hoped she didn't know the average human would not ever have the strength to do so.

"Th-thank you," she stuttered as I finally reached for the splint. I didn't like it, her thanking me for causing her pain. I tried to remind myself that in reality I was helping her, and I muttered an insincere "You're welcome." After a moment, I started wrapping the leg, and applying the thick plaster to form her cast.

By this point, Esme had calmed down considerably, and even offered me a small smile. "Do you know what I was supposed to do tonight?" she asked playfully.

"What's that?" I replied, happy she was talking again.

"I was supposed to go dancing." I looked up at her. There was an interesting mixture of amusement and regret painted across her face, but no true disappointment. "With Charles Evenson."

"Your boyfriend?"

"The love of my father's life," she replied, smiling. I laughed at that, and she seemed pleased with herself for making me do so.

"Well, that may no longer be an option," I told her. I slid back and stood to wash my hands. "Give that a moment to dry, and I'll have you out of here."

"Thank you." She leaned back and looked down at the mess of white plaster covering her leg, then back up at me. "So I suppose you're going to forbid me from ever climbing a tree again, just like my mother has?"

I shook my head. "I won't ever stop you from doing something that makes you happy." The words were weightier than I wanted them to be, and Esme blushed and looked down again. I took my seat beside her. "But I will advise you to be more careful, and to at the very least wait until your leg is healed to break it again."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you. I hope I never have to see you in here again," I joked, hoping she wouldn't realize the words were unexpectedly bittersweet.

"I wouldn't want to ever put you through that," she replied. I looked at her for a moment, and her eyes met mine. She stared back, her eyes full of terrible understanding. A human had never looked at me like that before. Esme was a world of firsts, wasn't she? A lovely anomaly.

A knock sounded at the door, and Millie entered. "Mrs. Platt is asking if you're done in here?" she offered nervously. I wondered what else Mrs. Platt had asked. The woman was about as friendly as a dragon.

"Yes, perfect timing on your part, Millie."

The nurse nodded and took the handles of the wheelchair.

"Esme?" I asked suddenly. The girl looked up at me, surprised I had spoken again, but smiling.

"Ye-e-es?" she asked in a bubbly, sing-song voice.

"Exactly what were you doing up in that tree?"

My question didn't faze her in the slightest. "Everyone knows the sweetest apples are on the highest branches," she replied, her eyes flashing mischievously. She suddenly reached into the folds of her dress, and from a hidden pocket I hadn't noticed before, withdrew a perfect, red apple, large and smooth and whole. She cavalierly tossed it to me. I caught it too fast, and while she seemed a bit startled by my reflexes, the smile didn't fade. She looked up the nurse. "I'm ready to go now," she said, and Millie wheeled her out of the room, looking perplexed. Esme winked at me boldly before the door shut behind her.

I couldn't help myself: I grinned. I tossed the apple from one hand to the other a few times, examining it carefully, amused. There had been something triumphant in her voice. She was proud of her little accomplishment.

I stared at the apple a moment more, and then tucked it into my pocket. I walked out into the waiting room on a whim. I liked the scene before me. Abraham was grinning ear to ear as he messily scrawled his name onto Esme's cast. Her mother looked disapproving, but Abraham's father was staring at Esme as like she was an angel. The little boy finished scribbling his name, and handed the pen back. "Thank you, Abe," Esme said sweetly.

"You're welcome," he replied animatedly. "It says Abraham. A-B-R-A-H-A-M. Abraham. Miss Tracy taught me."

"Esme," said the mother uncomfortably. "We should go. Your father is worried sick, and you'll have to call Charles."

Esme rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine." She looked at the little boy. "You don't break your arm again, and I won't break my leg, deal?" she asked. He nodded excitedly. She held up her hand. "Thanks buddy," she said with a genuine smile. He high fived her and her mother wheeled her out the door before the father could utter his thanks. Esme turned around to wave goodbye, but froze when she caught my eye. She blushed, and stared at me before disappearing around the corner.

For some bizarre reason, part of me wanted to run after her. I quickly cleared my mind of such notions. Instead I walked up to the little boy. "Your son is very brave," I told his father.

"Yeah, he is," he muttered in reply, looking at the floor. I knelt down.

"Do you like apples, Abe?" I asked. The child nodded shyly. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the perfect fruit. He paused, then took it hastily. "It's the sweetest one from the whole tree," I promised. He took a bite out of it, then smiled at me.

"You're right."

**A/N: Point of interest: that apple then went on to become a successful model, going green for a Beatles album cover, starring in a full length Disney feature film, and even appearing on the cover of the hit young adult sensation **_**Twilight**_**. **

**Review if you have the heart. Also, if you review, let me know if you'd be interested in me expanding on this. I have a good 50 pages saved on my laptop, and wonder if anyone would be interested in seeing them. **

**Thanks for the read. (: **


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